Lady in Red
by The Readers Muse
Summary: She savored the first few sips as she reacquainted herself with the warm, full bodied tang of Wild Turkey. Rolling the flavor on her tongue before swallowing as she let her body do the rest, closing her eyes in pleasure as the potent liquor trickled down her throat like molasses. …It really had been a long time.
1. Chapter 1

**Disclaimer: ** I don't own AMC's The Walking Dead or any of its characters, wishful thinking aside.

**Authors Note #1:** This story is meant to fit in some point during the winter when they were going from house to house - so sometime in between the season two finale and the season three premier. Focusing on the scenario of: _What if Daryl and Carol had met once before, decades before the virus and their escape from Atlanta to the quarry camp?_

**Warnings:** Contains some minor season two and three spoilers, references to Daryl's past, adult language and mature content.

**Lady in Red**

They'd been in a world of hurt by the time they'd stumbled across that mouldering old bar. A less jaded person might have called it fate, or maybe even good luck. But in reality, it was Daryl's keen eye and Glenn's hazy recollection of an old high school field trip to one of the state parks the next county over that had eventually led them too it. It was inconspicuous and half hidden behind a tall circle of evergreens, nearly invisible to the naked eye unless you knew just where to look. Tucked halfway down a dirt road in the middle of nowhere, nearly eighty miles from the nearest city center, Oak Hill or Covington, give or take the direction.

It was a big, old fashioned brick box that looked completely out of place next to all the aging vinyl and fading white-wash that seemed to make up the majority of the buildings in the sticks. It was the kind of heap that had been built to last, complete with a crumbling chimney and a rusty rectangle of ornate spikes that outlined the four corners of the roof. It was an old fashioned example of southern architecture that was past its prime and decidedly out of place considering it housed something as low budget as a backwater bar, especially one that went by the name of "Hardy Joe's Tavern." Not only that, but was in enough disrepair that the letter "j" was missing from "Joe" and the "y" was missing from "Hardy," making it sound like some x-rated movie sold in back alley sex shops and seedy 24-hour gas stations nationwide.

Either way, it'd been surprisingly perfect. It was a warm and dry, with a big fireplace, four solid walls and a roof over their heads – so like it or not the place had fit the bill. They'd rolled in just after dusk, barley ahead of two major storm fronts that were moving in from the north and west, already fighting through a few inches of fresh snow and near white out conditions as they'd slipped and slid down the interstate. Normally they wouldn't have even been in this type of situation, but they'd been caught off guard a few hours earlier, chased out of their safe house by a herd that had staggered out of the surrounding brush like sin on a mission.

They'd been busy exploring their new surroundings and breaking up bar stools for kindling when Glenn took a crossbar to the lock on the storeroom door, returning with a smug look and half a dozen cases of expensive whiskey and beer. Boxes that according to Glenn had been carefully hidden behind a stack of empties, almost as if whoever had stacked them had been half hoping they'd go unnoticed by the rest of the staff. And it was no wonder considering the dates and names on some of the labels. There was Glenmorangie single malt, Midleton Barry Crockett, a bottle of twenty-one year old Bushmills – and that was just for starters. Whoever had tucked those boxes away had expensive taste, even _she _knew that much.

A few bags of bar nuts and stale pretzels had started making the rounds by the time T-dog found a bottle opener and a handful of glasses. Passing around tumblers of expensive scotch and Wild Turkey as the fire hissed and spat behind the wire mesh. The smell of damp pine and singed dust mingling with that of scorched earth and stale sweat as they huddled close. Soaking in the heat as Glenn threw another armful of kindling onto the fire.

By the time the fire had been built up, they were well into their second round. Flying high on the last dregs of adrenaline and the warm slick of alcohol that was lining their bellies in a way that even a good meal couldn't seem to equal. Grinning widely as they peeled themselves out of their heavy winter jackets and exalted in the feeling of being truly warm for the first time in _weeks_, holding their hands up to the flames as layer after layer of liquid warmth trickled down their throats and into their bellies.

Everyone had a glass in hand, save for Hershel and Lori. Even Carl had managed to sneak a few sips from his father's beer, clearly regretting it a few seconds later as he hid a grimace under the brim of his hat, kicking back in his chair and brushing off his reaction when he figured no one was looking. Looking bored and decidedly left out before he wandered off in the direction of the storeroom to do some exploring of his own. - Which, judging from the can of Root beer he cracked open a few minutes later and the bottle of 7-up he handed his mother had been something of a success.

For her part, it had been nearly a decade since she'd touched the stuff. But for reasons beyond her she'd taken the glass from Maggie without a word. Hell, if she was being honest, she hadn't even hesitated. It was like the years had simply melted away and she was back having drinks with her school friends down at the old pub on 24th street. The Blue Saloon, the only place other than Sam's Grill on the edge of town that didn't card you as you walked in the door.

She savored the first few sips as she reacquainted herself with the warm, full bodied tang of Wild Turkey. Rolling the flavor on her tongue before swallowing as she let her body do the rest, closing her eyes in pleasure as the potent liquor trickled down her throat like molasses. _…It really had been a long time._

Everyone was in high spirits. Practically drooling as they watched the spit and listened to the occasional hiss of fat that dripped from the hunk of venison Daryl had managed to kill two days earlier. He and Rick had dressed it on the go on a tarp in the back of Hershel's truck as they'd driven around looking for a safe house. It had been a fat doe that Daryl had caught unaware along the side of a house in the suburbs, nibbling on some off season shoots and winter bulbs left over from someone's garden.

It had been their first square meal in days.

And luckily for them, with the frigid temperatures, the carcass had kept, giving them meat for days as they'd concentrated on restocking their food supplies and finding warmer clothes as the weather turned from chilly to downright freezing. - It might sound obvious, but it never ceased to amaze her the difference a lack of central heating made when it came to staying warm. In fact, she was counting down the days to summer_ already_. She'd rather sweat to death than freeze _any_ day.

She fished a few stale pretzels out of the bag before passing it to Lori. Chewing slowly as her mouth watered, taste buds alive with the zing of salt as she washed it down with another healthy sip of liquor. Enjoying the thrum of alcohol and the feeling of a full belly as the storm howled outside. Rattling the windows and moaning through the eves as the fire shifted, crowning their little corner in a shower of sparks as the sound of Beth's quiet laughter echoed throughout the room.

The feeling was comforting, familiar even. It sparked a sort of recognition that she couldn't quite place, something elusive and thin – something that lurked just underneath the surface, tangible, possible and enticing. Something that made her pause and think. ..._Hell_, the point was that it reminded her of something.

T-dog waved her off when she got up to turn the spit. Grinning widely as he pointed to a bottle of Johnny Walker Blue and mimed basting the hunk of meat with the bottle itself. She smiled back. Letting the man have his moment as he started rooting through one of the bags for the seasoning. Going all out as he started stacking the spices beside the hearth, reading off the labels with an excited air as he and Hershel started talking about the best way to go about basting two day old venison.

Leaving T-dog and Hershel to the cooking, she angled back towards her seat, making dust tracks across the filthy hardwood as she tip-toed around outstretched legs and the odd pile of gear. Only instead of retaking her place, she passed her chair and wandered deeper into the main room. Using the other's distraction as an excuse to explore as the sound of her footsteps echoed softly through the close space. The sound of quiet discussion and relieved laughter already strangely muted as she followed the bar down the opposing wall.

The bar itself was a graveyard of abandoned glasses and empty bowls. With jackets still slung across the backs of chairs and hats left to collect dust beside the napkin and coasters. It was almost as if everyone had just stopped what they'd been doing and ran. - But judging by the collection of cars still parked out front, it was a safe bet that most of them hadn't gotten very far.

She crossed her arms over her chest, pulling her sweater tighter around her shoulders as she looked up at the high ceilings. It was clearly a man's bar. What with the aging decor and the racks of antlers mounted high on the walls. Whoever had owned it had liked to mark his territory. That much was obvious from the framed pictures strewn across the walls. Mostly blurry polaroids featuring the same balding blond smiling beside his trophies, human and animal alike. With photos of pretty women interspersed between the proud smiles and shot gun salutes as the owner posed beside everything from a half a dozen fat bucks to a couple of mangy looking cougars.

It sounded judgmental, but she didn't have to have met him to know the type - brash, loud and skilled but always compensating for something. Once upon a time that observation might have even been amusing. But not now, not _today_ - today she was just thankful that the owner had had the good sense to set up a bar in the middle of nowhere with brick walls, high windows, and a dead bolt lock.

She ran her tongue across her lower lip as she looked around, feeling strangely out of place as she turned on her heel. But that was just it. There was something familiar about this place. She did another turn around the room, whirling slowly as the framed photos reflected in the low light. Turning the smug smiles and surprised glances into an eerie, mismatched slideshow that seemed to encapsulate the entire room, pausing on pictures at random as the fire light wavered. Ebbing and flowing as fire is oft to do, until someone tossed a fresh log onto the blaze and built it back up again.

But the strange feeling remained.

* * *

**A/N #1:** Thank you for reading. Please let me know what you think! Reviews and constructive critiquing are love! This will be a multi-chapter story, at the very least another two or three chapters, hope you enjoy!

"_The past is never where you think you left it."_ ― Katherine Anne Porter.


	2. Chapter 2

**Disclaimer**: I don't own AMC's The Walking Dead or any of its characters, wishful thinking aside.

**Authors Note #1:** This story is meant to fit in some point during the winter when they were going from house to house. Focusing on the scenario of: _What if Daryl and Carol had met once before, decades before the virus and their escape from Atlanta to the quarry camp?_ * Just to clear something up, this _could_ be construed as an AU – however the way I plan to work it into the plot makes it virtually cannon compliant. Just in case that is an issue for some.

**Warnings:** Contains some minor season two and three spoilers, references to Daryl's past, adult language, sexual imagery, mature content, and adorableness.

**Lady in Red**

_**Chapter 2**_

She let the low buzz of conversation wash over her. Picking up Rick's slow tones as they melded together with Carl's lighter ones, pitched high with youth and excitement as Lori's soft, almost lyrical chuckle echoed throughout the room in response. She closed her eyes, mind still trying to place it. Trying to label,organize, and catalogue the strange feeling that was only growing stronger by the minute.

Dammit, it was right there! Right on the tip of her tongue, but she just couldn't seem to reach it!

Frustration and anxiety rose up her throat like bile. Forcing her to swallow hard and breathe deep as she tried to distance herself from it. She shook her head. Anxious? And over something as harmless as a feeling? _Christ_, _maybe she was overtired. _It didn't make sense anyway. She'd never been here before; she'd never even been east of Atlanta. She was as sure of that as she was breathing and yet-

It wasn't long after she slid into a booth at the far end of the bar, the only one with a decent view of the stage that dominated the back wall that she heard Daryl's quiet footsteps coming up behind her. The muted swish and squeak as frayed cuffs rasped across the floor seconds before boot sole met with dusty hardwood. She had her back to him, but she knew, perhaps even instinctually that it was him. She'd recognize that sound anywhere.

She was still looking around the room when Daryl slid in beside her. Awkwardly humping his way across the bench and settling deep into the cushions as he got comfortable. Apparently not in the mood for any distractions as he flicked a stack of coasters off to the side - blowing somewhat futility at the dusty menu sitting in front of her before that too was shoved aside. Poncho fanning out behind him like some sort of banner as he shoved his crossbow across the table. Scratching long scores into the uncured wood as he pushed it down the table to make room, apparently oblivious to the discomforting screech as it grated across the varnish like nails on a chalkboard.

She snorted into her drink. _All in all, it was very Daryl_.

The man seemed to be in good spirits, obliviously enjoying the rare chance to wind down as he held a bottle of Southern Comfort by the neck. Looking particularly pleased with himself as he sent her a small smile from behind the fringe of his hair. It was one of the rare ones that went all the way up to his eyes, softening the lines around his mouth in a way that shaved five, maybe ten years off his age in a single glance.

She smiled back. After all, with a look like that, how could she not?

"…Yah look distracted." He commented finally, taking a drink straight from the bottle in lue of a greeting. Pointedly ignoring the spare glass that sat rim down on the table as his fingers flexed around the neck, all awkwardly sure, and brashly confident as he eyed her down from behind the fan of his lashes. Suddenly hyperaware of the way the muscles in his arms had started bunching and releasing as he spoke, forcing her to bite her tongue as even _that_ observation seemed strangely familiar.

"It was a close call." She replied, "If T-dog hadn't gone out to get more wood we might not have noticed the herd before it was too late. And finding this place? Well, it just makes me think that we might not be so lucky next time." She finished, eyes downcast as she drummed her fingers against her glass and avoided his eyes.

"That's not what I meant." Daryl replied, tone heavy with significance and a thickening southern drawl as his fingers trailed through the dust. Tracing a long streak through the grime before wiping his hand on his pant leg, his expression closed, almost as if he _wasn't_ waiting for her to reply as he picked at the corner of the table - slowly peeling off the tape that covered one of the edges, apparently set on waiting her out as the moment grew long.

She smiled ruefully; the man never missed a trick. She didn't know how he did it, but it made her wonder what it meant when Daryl could tell what she was thinking better than Ed ever could - better than Ed had ever _wanted_ to if she was being honest. Because when it came down to it, _that_ was the difference, Daryl had _always_ cared. He'd cared about her, about Sophia, and most of all he'd always been there when it'd mattered. He'd been there in a way Ed never had. Even on his best days.

"Deja vu." she murmured, more to herself than anything as she raised her eyes and met his gaze. Feeling something settle inside her as the words aired out, as if saying it made it real somehow - made it more than just her mind playing tricks on her. More like a real possibility than a complete shot in the dark.

She wasn't ashamed to admit that it scared her, the idea that she was missing something. That some part of her life remained a mystery to her, something so important, so deep that it was being dredged up by a place like this. A place she'd never even been in let alone driven past.

But Daryl just raised a brow, clearly waiting for her to explain as he grabbed the bottle and topped up her glass, filling it all the way to the brim before he leaned back in his seat. Clearly enjoying himself as he swirled the amber liquid around in the bottle, looking like one of those professional wine tasters you used to see on TV – smelling the bouquet before sipping.

"Have you ever felt like you've been somewhere before? …I mean, not just_ feel_ it, but _know_ it, only deep down you also know you _haven't_?" She asked, struggling to put her thoughts into words as she leaned back in her chair, watching out of the corner of her eye as Daryl cocked his head and frowned.

"…No." He replied, side eying her like she was talking in riddles or there was some sort of punch line he was missing. Once again gracing her with that blunt brand of honesty she'd come to rely on in the months since the world had fallen apart. They were words that were often hard to swallow, but worth far more than the empty platitudes people were more likely to voice when the going got tough. Daryl had never lied to her. Not once, and that was something she valued above all else.

She sighed, tapping her nails against her glass before pushing it away in frustration. Hell, for all she knew, maybe she was. Maybe she _was_ just talking herself in circles. Maybe the whiskey _was_ going straight to her head and she was reading too much into a feeling that could just as easily be put down as exhaustion or stress rather than the strange sort of familiarity that had settled deep in the pit of her stomach.

She didn't know what to think anymore. She was a contradiction of numbness and warmth, flighty and indecisive as she looked around at a place that reminded her of another. She just couldn't seem to place it. She couldn't seem to make the connection between where they were and where she'd been and it was driving her mad!

Confusion and uncertainty warred with stubborn pride as Daryl sat silently beside her, his posture easy but unflagging as he let her work through it on her own. Blunt fingers restless until he dug into his pack for his sharpening stone and oil and started sharpening his buck knife beside her - letting her know, in his own roundabout way, that he was there for the long haul.

It was on the sixth stroke that her limbs grew bold. Inching a few centimeters closer so that her arm brushed against his sleeve, inhaling the slightly metallic scent of dried sweat, crushed pine, and old leather as their arms touched and goose bumps spread across her skin. Suddenly feeling hyper sensitive and decidedly greedy as Daryl shifted awkwardly in his seat.

The buck knife glinted in the low light, reflecting the odd flicker of firelight as her eyes caught on a muddy swath of dirt that had been smeared across the front of his leather vest. Almost as if he'd wiped his hands on his vest before coming to eat or after helping load one of the vehicles.

It spoke of a sort of thoughtlessness that made her smile. It was something she'd picked up on more than once during the past year and a half. Daryl was always so careful, always so precise and deliberate when it came to almost everything he did. Everything he put his mind to was meticulously weighed and planned out. _…Except for when it came to his clothes. _

Hell, she was half convinced he'd be running around in a bed sheet styled as a god damned_ toga_ if it wasn't for her keeping tabs on his things. Darning and patching his jeans and shirts whenever they needed it and giving them a good scrubbing whenever they were in one place for more than a night. Doing what she could when he was off hunting or busy with other things. Knowing well enough by now how he got when he caught her doing his washing.

Perhaps this particular addition had occurred when Daryl had helped her down from the loft in the safe house or when he'd skidded in the gravel as he, T-dog, Rick, and Glenn had lifted his motorcycle into the back of Hershel's truck the day before. Catching himself on the bumper as the muscles in his legs had bunched and strained, working double time to keep both his balance and his momentum moving forward as they'd tipped Merle's old bike on its side and piled their gear on top of it. - They were small little moments that didn't mean much on their own, but when viewed together, and coming from him might as well have meant the world.

It could have happened during anyone of those moments, each one as innately appealing as the next. Each one showing how far he'd come and how the end of the world might have even been _good_ for him considering the hand he'd been dealt. - She'd never say it to his face, but it was in his flaws that she found perfection. It was his quirks and hang ups, his brashness and unpredictability that continued to reel her in.

_Hook, line, and sinker, as the man would probably say._

Her fingers were already itching to wipe it away when he paused, taking a long drag from the bottle before turning back to his work. Saying nothing about her closeness as bare skin brushed against bare skin.

And for reasons beyond her, that only made her want _more_. It only made her want to reach out and run her hand down his arm. It made her want to linger as she imagined his reaction when she scratched a line down the length of his thigh. Feeling the tremor in his muscles and the hiccup in his heartbeat as her arms curled around his neck. Fingers ghosting across his scalp as she dug her fingers into his hair and _tugged_, relishing in the scent of him as his stubble rasped across her skin.

Because believe it or not, but the thrill only increased when he _let_ her. Grunting into his next swallow as the muscles in his arms slowly began to relax. Letting her sit beside him, so close that she could make out the thrum of his pulse as she thought about all the things she'd _like _to do, but wouldn't. …At least not yet.

The only thing was, that even as her thoughts strayed more towards _him_ than the matter at hand, the more convinced she was that she'd been here before...

* * *

**A/N #1:** Thank you for reading. Please let me know what you think! Reviews and constructive critiquing are love! At this point is likely going to be a four chapter story, but that could certainly change depending what happens in terms of the coming chapters.

"_The past is never dead. It's not even past."_ ― William Faulkner, (Requiem for a Nun)


	3. Chapter 3

**Disclaimer:** I don't own AMC's The Walking Dead or any of its characters, wishful thinking aside.

**Authors Note #1:** This story is meant to fit in some point during the winter when they were going from house to house. Focusing on the scenario of: _What if Daryl and Carol had met once before, decades before the virus and their escape from Atlanta? * Just to clear something up, this could be construed as an AU – however the way I plan to work it into the plot makes it virtually cannon compliant._

**Warnings:** Contains some minor season two and three spoilers, references to Daryl's past, allusions to domestic abuse, sexual imagery, adult language and mature content.

**Lady in Red**

**Chapter 3**

She was still deep in thought when he leaned over and refilled her glass. His hand remarkably steady considering that the bottle, which had been full when he'd started, was now more than half gone. But even then, she barely noticed.

She ran a hand through her hair, raking the short strands into messy spikes as her fingers scratched across her scalp. Mind caught on a thousand different similarities as the minutes grew stale and the feeling only increased. Because it wasn't just in her head anymore, it was _everywhere_. It was in the firmness of the booth at her back, all unforgiving wood and lumpy cushioning. In the layer of dirt and grit grinding underneath her heels and the faint smell of cigarette smoke that seemed ingrained into the very walls.

She tried to remember the last time she'd even been in a bar, but failed. Things had changed since then, _she'd_ changed. And not just in terms of looks or the slow progression of age either. It was more than that, something internal. Not exactly her personality, but not deep enough to be her soul either. All she was sure of was that for good or ill, she wasn't that person anymore. The person that had existed _before_ Ed, before she'd made the mistake of settling for less than she should have.

And for his part, Daryl still hadn't said a word - letting her wrestle with her thoughts in silence as the minutes ticked by. She was well into her third sip when Daryl suddenly stiffened, his body language going on point as he turned towards the door. Seeming to defy both gravity and basic physics as he leaned out of the booth. Knife raised and poised to strike as the wind whistled through the eaves.

She listened closely, straining to hear what he was hearing as the fire hissed in the background. But it was no use; she couldn't hear anything above the wind and the sound of the others - nothing that screamed 'walker' or 'intruder' at any rate. But that certainly didn't stop her from dropping A hand down to her holster. Unclipping her belt knife just in case as she watched the frown on the man's face grow quizzical and tense.

It took a while, but after a handful of moments he finally relaxed, sheathing his knife and eying the door suspiciously as he took another healthy swig. The danger apparently passed, if it had been there at all, as he went back to picking at the label on the back of the bottle, flicking the sticky glue off his fingers as the pieces scattered across the table like paper rain.

She chanced a look behind her and couldn't help but raise a brow. The others hadn't even _noticed_.

Even so, it wasn't until he returned to the task at hand that she relaxed as well. The threat obviously unwarranted as the sound of his blade rasping across the grindstone lulled her back into complacency.

Her nails clinked rhythmically across the glass as the amber liquid sloshed up the sides, a hairs breath from spilling over as she covered her unease with an overly ambitious sip. - She nearly choked when the liquor hit the back of her throat. The unexpected burn making her eyes water and blur as she blinked back a film of tears.

Jesus, it really_ had_ been a long time.

She played with the rim of her glass before trying again, rolling the rich liquid around with her tongue before swallowing. But instead of enjoying it, her lips actually firmed. - It didn't matter what she did, she just couldn't shake the feeling that she'd been here before. That she'd sat here in this very spot, nursing a glass of the same liquor and nearly the same attitude.

Something that was both impossible and _apparently_ possible all at the same time.

She sneaked a look as he raised the bottle to his lips. Finding herself unable to look away as his throat worked, downing more than a few careless swallows as he tested the sharpness of his blade and grunted in affirmation. Watching him unashamedly as he shook back his hair and squinted up at the photos that lined the walls, having to bite down a laugh a few moments later when his eyebrows nearly disappeared into his hairline.

And call her crazy, but once again the feeling only increased.

She was broken out of her increasingly confusing thoughts when Glenn and Maggie dragged one of the tables closer to the fire. The metal legs grating across the floor with a discomforting screech that made everyone wince. Resulting in a disgruntled hum of conversation as everyone started shaking out their bedrolls and unpacking their bags. Slowly settling in for the night as Carl threw another armful of wood into the fire and sat down to read.

But it was the sound that did it. She wasn't sure how but it triggered some memory she'd half forgotten - a seemingly insignificant handful of hours that she hadn't thought about in _decades_, let alone years. Because that was when it hit her, it wasn't the place or the bar. It was _everything_ put together. It was her, _Daryl_, the scratched wooden floor and the dusty neon signs that decorated the walls above. Somehow, it was _everything_.

She turned around to face him. Trying to picture Daryl fifteen, maybe twenty years younger, with an uneven fan of dark brown hair and a look fit to match the bruises that highlighted the span of his knuckles. He'd been dressed in a faded pair of blue jeans and a beaten up leather jacket that was about three sizes too big on his growing frame and- _oh_...

It had been the end of summer; four years to the day since she'd walked across the stage at city hall and received her high school diploma. All gussied up in her brand new dress and graduation gown as she'd tried and failed to fend off her tearful mother and at least a few generations of distant relations as the entire family came out to celebrate. - And much like that day four years before, it was _hot_. Hot in way even _Georgia_ rarely dared to equal.

Actually, it was the year one of the worst droughts in state history blanketed Georgia from top to bottom. It had the state in a strangle hold, ruining crops and tanking the economy from Atlanta to Albany faster than you could say _bankruptcy_. Leaving nothing but a stifling layer of dry heat and a carpet of dust as thousands of acres or farmland slowly fractured - filtering through the air in a blizzard of dirty brown flakes until only parched earth and a network of miniature grand canyons stood it's stead.

The air had been thick, the way it often is after a long, dry summer. It was no different from the countless other days that had come before it, only somehow it _was_. In fact, it seemed as though the weather had stalled. Everything had seemed backwards, redundant. - All else considered, it didn't take much to be transported back there. Back to the pressing heat and the clouds edging onto the horizon - back to the goose bumps and heartache as she relived the memories of that day in less time than it took to blink.

The air was still. Heavy with the scent of burnt electronics and singed ozone as what felt like the entire state held its breath. She remembered thinking that it felt like it was going to storm. The air had just felt _possible_. …Possible and alive. Like the entire universe was just waiting on something.

And believe it or not, but it had also been their fourth anniversary.

She stalked into the bar with a slam that rattled the very windows. Her glossed lips curling downwards as the sound reminded of her of the way Jay had chased her down the driveway only a few hours before. He'd been half naked and blubbering by that point, grabbing at her arms in an effort to make her listen as the hem of her new dress flared out behind her - siren red and strapless as she'd kicked off her heels and marched barefoot towards her car. Still stuttering out excuses and high pitched pleads as he'd hitched one of their bed sheets higher on his hips and trailed behind her.

She couldn't deny that a film of red had hazed across her vision when she'd punched her foot down on the gas. Pelting him with gravel and dirt as he'd trailed behind, arms waving and face desperate as the blond he'd been…_entertaining _ducked through the neighbor's hedges and disappeared from sight. The scene growing small in her rear view mirror as she stamped down on the gas and turned onto the interstate.

She walked in with more confidence than she felt. But the truth was that she'd never even been in the place before, and for good reason.

Sam's Grill was the type of place that mothers warned their daughters about. Her mother had been no exception. Claiming that any woman caught dead in such a place was either a cheap tart or was asking for it. - And old fashioned sentiments aside, it certainly had a reputation. Fights, blood, and biker gangs seemed to be the order of the day when it came to that place. Hell, when she'd been in school even the guys on the football team had avoided it.

It was basically the old dive bar on the edge of town that everyone knew about, but few had ever been in. There was a stigma around it just as much as there was an atmosphere of violence. A mood that was ripe with unpredictability and wildness for the brave few that actually made it past the parking lot.

But in her mood, none of that had even so much as given her pause as she'd pulled into a space right next to a small convoy of Harleys. Blowing through the front door like hell on a runway. - Bold as brass, straight backed and dressed to the nines, she set her eye on a table near the back and sailed right past the bar. Ignoring the sudden hush of conversation as she chose a booth next to the stage and tried to look like she knew what she was doing.

She wasn't sure _what_ she was trying to prove or_ who_ she was spiting by coming here. Jay, her mother, or just the world at large, but either way she hoped to _Christ_ that it was worth it.

Back then she had a tilt to her walk and the ability to turn heads as she'd made her way through the sea of bar stools and pulled back chairs, ignoring the cat calls and appreciative stares as she smoothed her dress underneath her and slid into a booth. - She'd been a fuming mess of curly auburn hair, putting on brave face and a flare to her step as she tried to convince herself that he wasn't worth it. That he wasn't worth her tears and heart break any more than he'd been worth the last four years of her life.

His name had been Jay Olden and up until an hour before she found herself walking into the only place in town he'd been too chicken to take her, he'd also been the man she'd been planning on sharing the good old fashioned American dream with. They'd had it all figured out, the house, the car, and the kids. He was the man she'd being going steady with since her junior year. The only man she'd _ever_ been with, her first, _his_ first too, his first and_ only_ - or so she'd thought.

…_Bastard._

* * *

**A/N #1:** Thank you for reading. Please let me know what you think! Reviews and constructive critiquing are love!

"_Your past is always your past. Even if you forget it, it remembers you."_ ― Sarah Dessen, (What Happened to Goodbye?)


	4. Chapter 4

**Disclaimer:** I don't own AMC's The Walking Dead or any of its characters, wishful thinking aside.

**Authors Note #1:** This story is meant to fit in some point during the winter when they were going from house to house. Focusing on the scenario of: _What if Daryl and Carol had met once before, decades before the virus and their escape from Atlanta. *Just to clear something up, this could be construed as an AU – however the way I plan to work it into the plot makes it virtually cannon compliant._

**Warnings:** Contains some minor season two and three spoilers, references to Daryl's past, allusions to domestic abuse/violence, sexual imagery, adult language and mature content.

**Lady in Red**

_**Chapter 4**_

She hadn't been looking for anyone. Not a rebound or an easy score. No, she'd been more in the mood for a strong drink and a good old fashioned, mental man-shaming sort of evening. One that was best spent with your girlfriends, a few tubs of ice cream, red wine and a stack of romantic comedies that would last as long as your hangover the next morning. - Only this time she was alone. She hadn't had the heart to call Jen or Margie. Not after she'd found Jay and well, _whoever_ that girl was.

But in spite of her best intentions, that was when she caught sight of him.

He was sitting at the table in the middle of the aisle. Shadowed by the corner and the overhead beams and haloed in the glow of the dusty neon lights. Dirty nails brushing across chapped lips almost sensually as a hand-rolled blunt hung precariously from between his index and middle fingers.

All in all he painted quite the picture, wreathed behind a thin fog of cigarette smoke, all dark and mysterious with his long bangs and grim expression. But it was more than that, more than just the play of light arcing across his features, highlighting the occasional mole or half faded scar. There was something about him that defied definition - something unorthodox and barely caged.

His posture was ridged and nervous, negating the careless way his limbs had been thrown across the stool - spine stiff-backed but loose as he stretched in place. Arching up until a few inches of toned stomach peeked out from underneath his shirt, revealing a thin trail of honey brown hair that disappeared under the waistband of his jeans. Tantalizing and strangely suggestive in an unintentional sort of way as he smoothed it down and tossed back the rest of his drink.

To be honest, it made her cheeks heat. Feeling a bit like a voyageur as she watched his fingers comb through his hair. Thoughtless yet still undeniably sensual as the action only worsened his off center cow-licks and uncombed hair. - And to top it all off, it certainly didn't help that his lips were wrapped around his cigarette with an _obscene_ sort of focus that _actually_ made her thighs clench.

He didn't even seem aware of her, not even so much as batting an eye in her direction as one of the servers breezed past and took her order. And to be honest, she loved him for it.

He was nursing a tall glass of liquor she could actually _smell_. Something rich and dark that turned burnt amber in the low light, reflecting across the table in uneven prisms as he glared out at the world through suspicious eyes. He fixed his stare on anyone that came close. Upper lip curling into an irritated snarl as the noise level rose and fell - reminding her more of a wounded animal than a man as he seemed to draw into himself a little bit more every time one of the waitresses brushed past.

Everything about him seemed deliberate, _real_, everything from the greasy tinge to his bangs to the tired circles under his eyes. Nothing about him seemed fake or put on for show. Even the way he _sat_ seemed to exclude a sort of "fuck you sideways" type of expression that kept the men at an arm's length and the women secretly contemplative - if the slightly hooded expression of the petite bottle-blond lounging against the bar was any indication.

He looked like he was trying to disappear and she could relate to that. She was fresh out of her first real breakup, and to be honest she hadn't been looking for anything more than a stiff drink and a distraction.

Still, there was something about him that had peaked her interest. For example, she'd found that men his age were often more concerned with shooting the breeze and coasting through their third or fourth job after high school, too busy _living _to figure out what they wanted to do with the rest of their lives. Whereas he just seemed…_settled_, tired, like he'd already been around that block once or twice before and had had his fill of it.

He was nothing like Jay. Not in appearance or bearing, and she immediately liked him for it. Jay didn't slouch when he sat, nor did he hold his glass like it was an old friend. Jay's hair had been blond and perpetually trimmed, while this man boasted a messy head of dark brown hair that hid his eyes. Making it difficult to see where he was looking or what was going on in his head.

Jen would have called that mysterious. And while she did see the allure, in reality it just made her want to_ dissect_ him. To study him and appreciate him piece by piece until there were no more secrets, no more bangs to hide behind or excuses to offer. Until there was nothing left but truth, truth and the ability to measure a person by one of the most basic of measures known to mankind, by their worth - outside and in.

Because chance meetings aside, she couldn't help but think that this man seemed to have depths that went beyond the surface. There was so much left unspoken about him, both literally and figuratively. …Or maybe, given her current _train wreck_ of a romantic life, she just wanted to think that. From where she was sitting it was getting rather hard to tell.

Either way she'd been so busy taking him in that she hadn't even_ noticed_ the other guy.

It appeared that the competition was quick around here because the man in question wasted no time in appearing from nowhere. Sidling out of the shadows and ignoring the dark haired man entirely as he barged past and cleared his throat.

He slid into her booth with a leer and an over confident smile. Giving her a blatant once over as he raised his drink in salute. "To you, sweetheart," He purred, downing the glass with the ease of an after work alcoholic before signalling to the waitress to bring him another.

It took her a moment, but when she finally realized what all this was leading up to she startled backwards. Suddenly finding herself far too close to that fake smile and slicked back hair than she was strictly comfortable with as the stranger quickly closed the gap between them.

The man was a tall, dirty blond bombshell with dimples and a strong chin. And what was worse was that he knew it too. Hell, within five seconds flat she had him pegged as the kind of guy that spends far too long in front of the mirror in the morning – in love with his own reflection.

And somewhat unsurprisingly, the man had a wardrobe to match his personality. He was dressed in a pretentious grey suit and an emerald green tie that so closely matched the color of his eyes that it _couldn't_ have been an accident. Her suspicions were only confirmed when she glanced down and caught sight of the wedding band on his ring finger, looking polished and near brand new as it glinted up from his finger like a reminder.

"Do I know you?" She asked politely. Trying to keep the edge out of her voice as the newcomer continued to advance. Not sure what to make of the exchange as out of the corner of her eye, she watched the dark haired man's posture stiffen.

"Not yet." The blond replied, barely missing a beat as he sprawled back against the cushions, slick and smooth like some used car salesman trying to make a sedan look like corvette. All but _sweating_ insincerity as his trousers brushed deliberately against her bare legs.

Her back hit the hard edge of the booth with an audible thud, trapping her in place as she tried to inch her way backwards. Feeling uncomfortable and almost dizzy as a veritable_ smog_ of cheap cologne and stale bourbon wafted through the air in his wake.

_Christ, had the man taken a bath in the stuff or what?!_

"What are you drinkin' tonight, sugar? Can I get 'ya another?" He purred, apparently undeterred as he took a swig of his drink and smacked his lips appreciatively.

"My drink is doing just fine thank you." She said firmly, deciding to cut him off at the pass as he resumed inching across the bench in pursuit.

"Aw, darlin' don't be like that. It 'aint polite to treat a stranger like they were less than yesterday's news, now is it?" He drawled. Eyes flashing as he leaned forward, one part intimidating and the rest creepy as he fixed her with what she_ assumed_ was supposed to be a soulful look.

"I'm sorry, but I'm not interested. Please leave." She replied coolly. Fingers clamping down on the couch cushions as the man's eyebrows rose and an irritated expression overtook the sleazy smile.

_Dammit! She'd been an idiot to come here. Christ, what the hell was she thinking!? Coming to a place like this alone?!_

But that was when it happened - the moment when that lone voice suddenly growled out of the dark.

"Hey buddy, shove off. She said she wasn't interested." The younger man spat. The words coming out more like a growl than anything else as he leaned forward from his table in the aisle - voice rough and pitching in all the right places as the butt of his cigarette glowed red.

She shivered as she met the younger man's eyes, catching the gleam in the near dark as the blond turned around to look. Taking him in from scuffed boots to tousled brown hair before he snorted in derision, apparently unimpressed as his posture straightened and his expression grew smug.

"Listen pal, we're in the middle of something here. Who do you think you are to-" Her would be suitor began, only to get cut off when the younger man took a slow, deliberate swallow of his drink and talked right over him.

"I aint gonna say it again." The dark haired man butted in, cutting him off before he could even so much as finish as the blond choked on his drink. Green eyes going wide as the younger man's voice dipped low – raspy and dry, like the consistency of an old calibrator as he leaned forward and fixed the asshole with a piercing glare.

The stranger visibly squirmed. Looking between them indecisively, like he was considering his options before the younger man slammed down his glass and narrowed his eyes. - And in the end, that was all it took. She barely had time to register the sound of his suit jacket flapping out behind him as the man took off in the direction of the bar. Presumably to go mend his shattered ego in private.

"Thanks." She sighed gratefully, watching with no small amount of amusement as the other patrons chuckled. Raising their glasses in her direction in some sort of introductory salute as the man all but fell over himself in his haste to get away.

"No problem." The younger man grunted. Taking a drag on his smoke and drowning the pause with a healthy swallow as the smoke swirled above his head in an awkward halo of muted neon and chemical grey. Turning the air acrid and bitter as eager lips wrapped around the hand-rolled cig with all the flippant delicacy that one would expect from a couple's second _first _kiss or the type of attitude a surly teenager tends to exclude when they've been tasked with setting the table with their mama's best china.

"Let me get you your next one?" She offered. Trying to keep him talking as his eyes momentarily flickered over in her direction before dismissing her again. Expression guarded as he leaned back in his chair, his very posture designed to discourage conversation as he fiddled with a loose piece of plaster on the wall behind him.

"You don't owe me nothin'..." He replied, tone going sharp as he stubbed out his cigarette and avoided her eyes.

"I know, but I'd like to all the same." She insisted, not at all deterred by his closed demeanor as she watched him rummage around his breast pocket. Pulling out one of those old fashioned silver cigarette cases and shaking out another before snapping it closed. Stuffing it back into his jacket and zipping it up to the chin like he was readying himself to leave.

"Suit yourself." He muttered as she flagged down the waitress, looking surprisingly surly about the entire affair as he hunched his shoulders and started fiddling with one of the coasters.

"I'll have what he's having." She said cheerfully, pulling a twenty from her purse with barely a pause as the harried looking waitress whipped out her notepad. Feeling bolder than she'd felt in a long time as she made sure to look him right in the eye as she did it.

But for all her efforts of trying to get a rise out of him, he just stared back. Eyes fathomless and dark, yet still strangely warm as he caught her gaze and held it, turning her small victory into a stalemate that only made the game that much more intriguing.

Either way, the message was clear. He wasn't one to roll over and play nice just because the wind was blowin' in the right direction. - But then again, neither was she.

* * *

**A/N #1:** Thank you for reading. Please let me know what you think! Reviews and constructive critiquing are love! I am foreseeing this story to stretch at least a few more chapters, so hold onto your butts! There will be more to come! I am posting this chapter a bit early this week, due to my work schedule I had a bit more time to work on it which resulted in it being done early. I will try to have another chapter ready by Friday, my regular updating day, but I can't guarantee it. Fingers crossed!

"_What's past is prologue."_ ― William Shakespeare, (The Tempest)


	5. Chapter 5

**Disclaimer:** I don't own AMC's The Walking Dead or any of its characters, wishful thinking aside.

**Authors Note #1:** This story is meant to fit in some point during the winter when they were going from house to house. Focusing on the scenario of: What if Daryl and Carol had met once before, decades before the virus and their escape from Atlanta. _* Just to clear something up, this could be construed as an AU – however the way I plan to work it into the plot makes it virtually cannon compliant._

**Warnings:** Contains some minor season two and three spoilers, references to Daryl's past, clear allusions to domestic abuse/violence, sexual imagery, adult language and mature content.

**Lady in Red**

**Chapter 5**

The waitress's eyebrows nearly disappeared into her hair as she stared in surprise. Head bobbing from her to the man in question like she was watching some sort of tennis match as her mouth dropped open in shock. But even more interesting was the strangely troubled look that flashed across her face as she turned around to face her - chewing on her lower lip like she wanted to say something, but eventually thought better of it.

However, like any professional, she shifted gears quickly, sweeping up their empty glasses before crossing back over to the table in a cloud of knock off Chanel No. 5 and low riding jeans. She snatched a pen from behind her ear and a notebook from her apron as she leaned up against the booth. Close enough for her to make out the flaws in her makeup - spots where the concealer had worn thin, revealing bruised flesh and angry fingerprints that spanned from cheekbone to neck as she tried to make herself heard through the din.

The sight alone made her shiver. _How could someone so damaged act so happy?_

"Sure thing hon. Two Johnnie Walker Blacks, double, on the rocks and chilled, won't be more than a few minutes." She replied, flashing her an uneven smile as she scribbled down the order and headed off in the direction of the bar. Her happy demeanor at odds with the fading bruises as she moved effortlessly through the late night crowd.

"It's your green to waste." He remarked after a moment, effectively rousing her from her thoughts as his eyes took on a suspicious glint. Almost as if he was half expecting this to be some sort of elaborate con or a joke at his expense as he stared at her from behind the curtain of his stringy bangs - body language borderline sullen.

"Hey, you did me a favor. I wasn't in the mood for that kind of company tonight." She answered honestly. Getting flashbacks of the moment when she'd pulled up outside Jay's apartment - excited about surprising him with her new dress as she snuck around back and unfolded the fire escape. Planning on climbing right through the bedroom window as she showed off her _other _special purchase, not the dress, but rather what she was wearing _underneath_ it.

"Then why are 'ya here? I mean no disrespect lady. But you're dressed to the nines and this is the one place in town that people actually _expect_ to score." He pointed out, leaning away from the breeze as he lit up. Eyes fluttering shut in apparent bliss as he took a long, unintentionally erotic-looking drag.

She raised brow. He was blunt. She'd give him that. But believe it or not, she found it surprisingly refreshing - especially after all of Jay's half-truths and empty words. She'd never wanted to be coddled. To be handled delicately or lied to simply for her own peace of mind. But ironically everyone from her father to her ex had done exactly that. …Until now.

…_Until him._

"I'll take that as a compliment." She replied after a moment. Smiling, this time a bit ruefully as she remembered the look on Jay's face when she'd slipped through the window. Expression going blank as her eyes had caught on the tangled sheets and stray limbs, having enough time to pick out the bloodshot whites of Jay's eyes and a rumpled head of long blond hair before she made for the door. The scene freeze framed in living color as all the things she'd hoped for when she'd dreamt of a life with him went up in an ugly cloud of cloying ash and bitter fallout.

She sighed, tracing her finger around the rim of her glass before she made to speak. "Ever get the feeling that you're missing the fine print when it comes to a relationship?" She hummed. Taking a cautionary sniff - then sip of her drink as the rich liquor hit the back of her tongue with all the subtly of a small nuclear explosion.

_Jesus that was strong! And he was on what? His second, maybe third glass?!_

"Fine print, big print, don't much matter which. They all end up the same way." He grunted, draining his glass with a messy swallow and slamming the empty down on the table.

She mused on the truth of his words as the waitress arrived with their drinks. _Redneck wisdom, who would have thought?_ – It was surprisingly philosophical coming from someone like him. Maybe she shouldn't have been so surprised, but she was. But perhaps that was her own failing; after all, she knew better than to judge a book by it's cover.

"With you in a bar?" She finally replied, coy and just a little bit smug as she swirled her drink around her in glass - feeling giddy and buzzed as she marveled at her own boldness. She wasn't exactly sure where the smart ass comment had come from, but she certainly didn't regret it. Not when his eyebrows shot up and the hint of a smirk flirted with the corner of his lips.

"Hey, I don't exactly see you batting a thousand here, lady." He shot back, quick on the mark in a way that made her smile as he flicked the ash off the end of his smoke and took a drag.

"True enough." She countered, figuring that after her jab it was only fair that he nailed her right back. Satisfying herself with simply catching his interest as she caught his gaze and smiled.

They talked for over two hours. And for the first time in a long time, she felt alive for every minute of it. The man had a surprisingly quick wit and an attentive stare. The kind that actually makes you two parts nervous and the rest excited as you force yourself to meet it. Too caught up in the novelty of having someone's undivided attention as the man actually seemed interested in what she had to say rather than simply the fact that her lips were moving. Both of them eager to push the conversation to the next plateau, the next high, the next _thrill_ as she pressed her advantage and moved down the bench until it was just the aisle and a handful of feet that separated them.

It had been something of a competition. Bantering back and forth until they'd exhausted all avenues of propriety and strayed into the grey. With idle thought lurching ahead of common sense until it became a game of toeing the line and seeing how far they could push each other away from it. It was a delicate chess match played without pieces or rules and it was_ thrilling_ to say the least.

He offered up almost nothing of himself. And for some reason, she did the same. It was part of the thrill she supposed. There were no names. No places, or points of reference, just the here and now. It was surprisingly exciting, not knowing. There were no stakes, no risks, just the moment. It gave her time to appreciate what she had right in front of her. Things like the bold honey-tang of the whiskey in her glass and the low, lilting rasp of his voice filling in the silence.

It was near closing time when she decided to take a chance.

"So, do you want to dance? They're closing up soon and it seems a waste not to make use of a perfectly good band." She ventured, gesturing off towards the stage where a soulful country band was crooning out the lyrics to some George Jones song she only half recognized. Light on the piano but bold on the guitar as the music filtered through the bar like stylized silk.

Her muscles were tensed for rejection. Surprising even herself when she realized how much she wanted him to accept. Held captive by the idea as it percolated in the back of her mind. Visualizing those big palms curling around her waist and the musk of old leather rising in her senses as he cut in and pulled her close.

…_Jesus._

She thumbed the rim of her glass and took a calming sip. Not quite daring to meet his eyes as she _sensed_ rather than _saw_ his posture stiffen.

But instead of an outright dismissal, he managed to surprise her once again by looking confused and perhaps even a bit unsettled by the prospect. In fact, he acted as though she'd caught him off guard, almost as if he_ didn't_ get propositioned left, right and center. - But then again, she'd been wrong before. Sometimes people couldn't see past what was being projected. And sometimes they didn't want to either. Too afraid of what it would mean if they had to work for it.

"Is this another one of those fine print things?" He asked after a few beats. Expression so guarded that she nearly missed the humor sparking there. Fingers flirting with the dwindling stub of his cigarette as he knocked off the ash and took a careful drag.

She smiled. The expression going all the way to her eyes as he caught her gaze and held it, surprised to find her feelings mirrored there as cheeky confidence and professional prudence melded together. - She chose her words carefully, feeling a lot like she was battening down the hatches before a hurricane as she ran her tongue across her lower lip. Hopefully optimistic but guarded against the worst as she leaned forward and made to speak.

"If I say yes, does that mean I still get my dance?" She countered; tossing back an errant curl as her fingers skittered across the table. Nervous, but defiant as she watched him shift through at least a dozen different expressions before settling on something in between amusement and annoyance.

The grin she got out of him was awkward. As if he were somehow unused to the expression as he stubbed out his cigarette and leaned forward, running a calloused hand through his hair to reveal bright blue eyes and a thoughtful look.

"I guess one won't hurt." He grunted. Twisting around in his seat to look as the band started playing the opening strains of "Forever and Ever Amen" by Randy Travis.

"That's the spirit," She said with a laugh. Finishing her drink and smoothing the wrinkles out of her dress all in one smooth motion. Lingering a bit around the waist as the silky material clung the flare of her hip like molasses to the rim of a jar, all but _begging _to be touched.

And she wasn't ashamed to deny the little flare of heat that smouldered to life in her belly when she realized she had an audience. Watching him watching her as the lights dimmed and his eyes followed the soft curve of her thighs as she slid off the bench and swayed to her feet.

* * *

**A/N #1:** Thank you for reading. Please let me know what you think! Reviews and constructive critiquing are love! – This chapter is a bit shorter this time as you got two this week. The next one should be up sometime next week, stay tuned!

**A/N #2:** If you like country, I would actually recommend taking a listen to "Forever and Ever Amen" by Randy Travis. I am not even a big country fan, but I was pleasantly surprised. I was looking for songs that came out around the time Daryl and Carol would have been in their twenties and this song ended up fitting the bill. I can really see them swayin' to a song like this in some backwater bar. Daryl all uncomfortable as the occasional lyric breaks through the fog of holding her in his arms and Carol too busy both admiring him and trying not to laugh to do anything else.

"_Look back, and smile on perils past."_ - Walter Scott


	6. Chapter 6

**Disclaimer:** I don't own AMC's The Walking Dead or any of its characters, wishful thinking aside.

**Authors Note #1:** This story is meant to fit in some point during the winter when they were going from house to house. Focusing on the scenario of: What if Daryl and Carol had met once before, decades before the virus and their escape from Atlanta. _* Just to clear something up, this could be construed as an AU – however the way I plan to work it into the plot makes it virtually cannon compliant._

**Warnings:** Contains some minor season two and three spoilers, references to Daryl's past, allusions to domestic abuse/violence, sexual imagery, adult language and mature content.

**Lady in Red**

_**Chapter 6**_

Her nerve endings went electric as she watched him throw back the rest of his drink. Eyes catching on the way his throat worked. Highlighting the odd mole or fading scar as he ran his hand through his hair, pushed back his chair and got to his feet.

She didn't say a word as she led the way towards the stage. Having to trust that he was still following as she put a sway into her step and made her way through the maze of couples already scattered across the dance floor.

The dance was both everything she _hadn't_ expected it to be and everything she didn't know she'd even _wanted_ until he was suddenly just _there_ - curling his arm around her waist and pulling her close as the scent of expensive whiskey, old leather and an honest day's sweat overwhelmed that of stale beer and dusty pine.

They didn't do much. Mostly just swaying from side to side, sweet and graceless like a high school dance as the music filtered through the ancient speakers and the usual loudness of the bar became somehow muted. Deciding not to comment when the hands that had once been barely resting on her hips, eventually strayed towards the small of her back - awkward in a way that was endearing and rather than disappointing as he ducked his head into his chest and tried his best to stare at nothing.

She was half expecting him to trip over his own feet, but he didn't. In fact he was surprisingly graceful, in a surly sort of way. There was a surety in his steps that wasn't there when he was at rest, like he knew every muscle, every tendon and ligament all but _intimately_ and wasn't afraid to use them accordingly. He played his body like a finely tuned instrument, turning the smallest gesture into an inadvertent performance that even _he _didn't seem aware of.

After all, it wasn't the dancing that had him on point. It was the closeness, the _contact_. Because ironically enough, even now there was conflict there. She could feel it. Mind and matter warring between discomfort and longing as his palms grew bold but his muscles remained tense. He seemed torn and uncertain when her fingers skimmed down his sleeves and tangled in his belt loops - keeping the movement slow and easy as he cleared his throat and angled them deeper into the shadows.

His reaction to her and the people whirling around them was like watching a wounded animal trying to choose between a fight or flight response. And as wrong as it was too admit, she couldn't quite deny that as heartbreaking as it was to behold, it was also equally as intriguing. Contrasting more than it explained as the muscles under her hands turned jerky and tense.

He held her like she was made of braised porcelain, like she was liable to be ripped away at any moment. Treating her like she was someone precious rather than an overly forward stranger he'd only just met.

His hands were calloused, that much she could tell through the thin material of her dress. Hyper aware of the faintly sweaty texture as his hands dipped south, flirting with the seams of her dress as he leaned forward. Chin ghosting across the top of her head in a way that made her pause. Nudging a few of her long, auburn curls with the roughness of his stubble before retreating.

She got so caught up in the sensation that when he directed them through the next turn she lost her footing, caught off guard as they turned sharply to avoid bumping into another couple. But in mid-stumble, without even so much as a hiccup in the rhythm, he was suddenly just _there_. Hoisting her up like she weighed next to nothing as her heels caught on the uneven hardwood and pitched her forwards.

The move forced him to take the bulk of her weight as he tightened his hold and crushed her to his chest. Wicked fast and instinctive as fireworks sparked down the length of her spine and her dress got yanked up to mid-thigh. - It was an action that was gentle but left nothing to chance as whatever space had been left between them abruptly vanished.

Hell, it'd happened so fast that she hadn't even had time to _blink_.

She dug her fingers into the curve of his shoulders and laughed. All but main-lining the acrid tang of singed chemicals, old sweat, and cured tobacco as his scent rose in the air around her. Making her nervous and giddy as both the near miss and his sudden closeness hit her like a shot of tequila to the nervous system.

"…Sorry," She giggled, voice hitching and nearly breathless as she tipped back her head and caught his gaze. Dizzy in a way that had nothing to do with the near miss as his nails accidentally raked across the small of her back.

"S'alright," He muttered, voice rough and pitching as his grip slackened. Baulking a bit, like a nervous horse when she made no move to pull away - almost as if he'd expected her to recoil and didn't know how to react when she didn't.

She could feel his hesitation as their bodies pressed together, something that was felt more that expressed. Heralded by a tightness in his shoulders and a tic in his jaw as he fixed his eyes on the ground. Looking anywhere _but_ her as his arms slowly loosened their strangle hold and uncurled from around her waist.

And all else considered, she probably should have _let_ him.

She probably_ should_ have kept her distance and left well enough alone. After all, whatever issues he had and however much either he or the world was to blame was _his _business. Not hers. But at the end of the day, she couldn't. She couldn't just stand idly by and let him miss out on something he deserved. Something she was more than willing to give him when it all came down to it.

…Something _good_ with no strings attached.

Because instead of backing off. Instead of loosening her hold and giving him his space, she went a step further. Drawing him in with the crook of her arm until their lips were only inches apart and her arms were wrapped around his neck. Telling him without words everything he didn't have the courage to ask.

And despite the fact that his spine arched, trying to both shy away and hunch in on himself all at the same time, he let her. Allowing her to take the lead as she swayed to the rhythm, inches apart and slightly breathless and they tried to ignore the fact that he was half hard and she was flushed and aching.

And for a long moment, time seemed to slow.

* * *

**A/N #1:** Thank you for reading. Please let me know what you think! Reviews and constructive critiquing are love! – Sorry about the short chapter, I reached a natural pause in the flow and decided to make it short rather than force it. Hopefully I will have a second chapter ready by Friday as well, no promises, but I will try!

"_The dogmas of the quiet past are inadequate to the stormy present. The occasion is piled high with difficulty, and we must rise with the occasion. As our case is new, so we must think anew and act anew."_ - Abraham Lincoln.


	7. Chapter 7

**Disclaimer:** I don't own AMC's The Walking Dead or any of its characters, wishful thinking aside.

**Authors Note #1:** This story is meant to fit in some point during the winter when they were going from house to house. Focusing on the scenario of: What if Daryl and Carol had met once before, decades before the virus and their escape from Atlanta. * _Just to clear something up, this could be construed as an AU – however the way I plan to work it into the plot makes it virtually cannon compliant._

**Warnings:** Contains some minor season two and three spoilers, references to Daryl's past, Carol's past, clear allusions to domestic abuse/violence, sexual imagery, adult language and mature content.

**Lady in Red**

_**Chapter 7**_

She gnawed on the inside of her lip as his jacket brushed across her chest. Nipples hardening under the thin fabric as his thumbs grew bold and started rubbing slow circles into the jut of her spine.

…_Christ._

She hissed in a breath as the tempo changed and their hips ground together. Nearly doing herself in right then and there as he grunted and throbbed against the press of his zipper - so close that she could feel every curve, every dip and definition as he met her halfway. Still not meeting her eyes, but so close that she could feel his breath on her skin. Thrilling and warm in a way Jay had _never_ been.

She bit her lip. Nearly choking on a heated little mewl as a jolt of pleasure settled deep in her lower belly. The scene suddenly feeling a whole lot like a game of dominoes as his fingers fanned out across the small of her back, cautious but growingly curious as he inched into new territory.

It was almost as if he was mapping her out by touch - making it more than a just moment, more than just a random act, but a _memory_. Something to be revisited and enjoyed later when the good times are scarce and reality has grown jaded.

She didn't even realize that the music had stopped until the sound of a pointed cough suddenly brought the world back into focus. The moment effectively broken as the waitress from before appeared, seemingly out of nowhere, and tugged on her partner's pant leg from the floor below the stage.

"I'm sorry to interrupt, but you've got a call, sweetness," The waitress drawled, balancing a tray on her hip as she sailed past the stage. Platform heels clicking across the hardwood like individual heartbeats as she paused and checked her reflection in the mirror beside the stage.

"You can take it at the bar, but you might have to sweet talk Vinny though." She added with a giggle, tossing the words over her shoulder as she gestured towards the stout man tending bar. Taking a small tube of concealer out of her apron and daubing it across her cheek. Her confidence clearly shaken as she doubled checked her appearance and flushed pink in embarrassment.

The man in question wasn't hard to spot. Considering his sheer size and the way he was glaring at them from across the room. Looking eternally put upon as he slammed his fist against the counter and gestured towards them through the late night crowd.

"Sorry, I gotta take this." He grunted, eyes narrowing in irritation as he walked her to the edge of the stage and set off across the bar. Leaving her alone on the dance floor as the band started packing up for the night and the people slowly began to disperse.

Normally she'd be disappointed, maybe even a bit ticked off at being left hanging like that. But in reality she couldn't even muster up the effort to be irritated. Too busy watching him stalk across the bar as the crowds parted in his wake like Moses and the Red Sea - his reputation obviously preceding him as he made his way through the maze of bar stools and tables and disappeared into a crowd of rowdy looking bikers.

It wasn't until he reached the bar that she realized she was still standing on the edge of the stage. Stalled and alone as her hands smoothed down the length of her dress, remembering the way his palms had rested there. Awkward and endearing as the inches had melted away and desire had replaced that of uncertainty. In fact, if the waitress hadn't interrupted them when she did, she had a feeling that he was going to-

Alarm jolted through her. Shaking herself out of a fog of cigarette smoke and arousal as she realized how close she'd been to just throwing caution to the wind and-

_God, she was an idiot!_

She weaved her way through the mess of people. Excusing herself as she pushed past the odd couple before letting the night's inevitable collection of bachelors go ahead of her – already digging around in their wallets for one last round as she made her way back to the booth.

She fiddled with her straw as she watched him signal the bartender. Eventually digging around in his wallet and passing him a few bills before the heavyset man handed him the phone. Leaving the younger man alone at the farthest corner of the bar as he whistled for the waitresses and started dealing with the late night crowd as what seemed like half the bar came up to settle their tabs.

But the moment when she_ really_ started paying attention was when his hands tensed on the bar, gripping the varnished wood so hard she swore she heard it creak. Back hunching inwards, almost as if he was expecting some sort of blow as the fingers that had been flirting with the cord suddenly went dangerously tight.

"Everything alright?" She asked when he returned - knowing full well that it wasn't as he shrugged his shoulders and leaned up against one of the dusty wooden pillars that marked the halfway point between her booth and his table.

"Depends on who you're askin'" He muttered. Looking oddly distracted as he threw a five down in the direction of the table and turned towards her. Expression closed off and stormy.

"Listen, I gotta go. It's a family thing, my brother went and got himself in a… _well_, it's a long story. Do 'ya need a ride somewhere?" He asked, looking genuinely regretful as he palmed his keys and gestured towards the door, gaze straying from dress straps to freckles as he took her in under the glow of the dusty neon lights.

"No. Thanks though. Don't worry about me. I'm going to head home myself, it's getting late." She replied, running her hand through her long curls as she sent him an encouraging smile. Finding herself caught between disappointment and relief as he ducked his head and checked his watch.

"I'll walk you out then." He offered. Treating her to a small, hesitant little smile as his ran his fingers through his hair and gestured for her to walk ahead. Turning ruffled bedhead into something just shy of defying gravity before he flattened it back down again - giving his cowlicks free rein as they curled around the nape of his neck.

"I had a good time," She began, struggling to find the words to convey her feelings as they walked through the dented double doors and into the soft Georgian moonlight.

"It was nice to talk to someone who's had their own issues with the…_fine print_." She quipped. Figuring she'd got him pegged when he shoved his hands into his pockets and scuffed his boots into the gravel. Squinting off in the direction of the interstate and the miles of blacktop that stood between them and the closest county worth mentioning.

"Likewise." He returned. Clearly searching for something to keep him occupied as he pulled out his cigarette case and started rummaging around in his pockets for a lighter.

The silence that followed was almost laughably surreal. Hearing real crickets rather than metaphorical ones as the low hum of chickadees and fully grown Georgian hoppers rose up to fill the silence. Both of them at a loss as to what to say next as the silence lengthened and everything they didn't know how to say stretched out before them like light reaching out to meet the dark.

She was drowning in descriptions but strangely short on adjectives and verbs. Frustrated and confused as he just ground his heels into the dirt and stared out at the night sky. Absolutely no help whatsoever as she did her best to become the first person in the entire state to _drown_ on dry land in the middle of a god damned _drought_.

"Alright..." He began, breaking the silence and stepping forward awkwardly. Looking like he was about to extend his hand before he thought better of it. Chin ducking into his chest as he caught her gaze from behind the fan of his dark lashes.

"See you around then?" He asked, tone guarded but hopeful as he kicked at a clump of blacktop and sent it skidding across the gravel. "I swing past here every couple of weeks or so." He explained after a moment, seeming to take her expression as affirmation when she smiled and nodded.

"Definitely." She returned, giving him a little wave as he shoved his hands into his jacket pockets and headed off across the parking lot. Trying to tell herself that him leaving was actually for the best. And that she _didn't_ already miss that crooked little smile and the press of his palms while the awkward screech of unoiled springs and stripped gears pinged through the silence like a warning.

She waited until his pickup, a rickety old death trap of rust and mismatched paint, rattled out of the parking lot and onto the interstate before she dug through her purse for a quarter. Pulling her shawl tighter around her shoulders, she crossed the street and angled towards the pay phone at the new Gas-and-Go around the corner to call her girlfriend Jenny.

Her heels sunk into the loamy soil as she looked longingly off in the direction of her car, but decided not to risk it. She felt heady and strangely weightless as she tucked her hair behind her ears and fumbled with her quarter - listening impatiently to the sharp _clickity-click_ as she thumbed the dust off the screen and picked up the receiver.

And whether that feeling was from the alcohol, the dance, or both it didn't much matter. She was damn near blitzed and she knew it. …_Her mama hadn't raised a fool that was for damn sure._

It took a moment, but after a shower of static and a few awkward beeps, the call finally connected.

"Hey Jen, yeah, it's me. No, I'm okay – listen, Jay and I had a fight, I ended it. Yeah, I'm fine, don't-what? No, _I am_, really… It was a long time coming anyway. – I'm at Sam's Grill downtown and I've had a few. Can you come pick me up? I have gas money," she asked. Biting her lip and rubbing her arms as a rash of goose pimples broke out across her skin. The night growing cold as a soft wind ruffled her loose curls.

"No? I-no, it's okay. I understand. Don't worry about it-yeah, I know, the baby comes first. You should just be happy he's sleeping through the night now. Give him a kiss for me alright? – Wait! Listen, do you know Jay's friend from school? The jock?" She asked, nearly rolling her eyes as her friend yawned and mumbled a negative.

"Remember they used to play football together, in high school? …The Ridgebacks? – Yeah, yeah, the one with the dirty blond hair and green eyes. …Jen! Be serious!" She scolded, actually rolling her eyes this time as her friend teased her from across the line.

"What was his name again? Ed? …Right. Listen; can you give me his number? – Jen! Get your mind out of the gutter! I just need a ride to- oh good lord! _Jen!_ Not a word of this gets out, you understand? Promise me you won't– Alright-alright now what was his number again?" She demanded, popping the cap off the pen that was attached to the booth as she scribbled the number on a free corner of the ratty old phone book.

"Thanks girl, I owe you one. Yeah, I'll call you tomorrow okay? Night!"

She paused as she hung up the phone. Eyes straying towards the interstate as the sound of a truck downshifting through the city limits echoed through the empty streets, suddenly regretting the fact that she'd never asked the man's name as she buried her chin in her shawl and caught a whiff of his scent. Committing the evening to memory as a pack of stray dogs skittered across the blacktop only a few meters away. Making tracks towards the city dump as they eyed her suspiciously from behind the long grass.

It wasn't until the wind picked up, swirling around her legs and fluttering back the way she'd came that she took a deep breath and reached for the phone. Thumbing a fresh quarter into a slot, she waited for the tone and started dialing Ed's number. Biting her lip and looking around nervously as the phone began to ring. Somewhat uncertain of the kind of reception she was going to get from one of Jay's closest friends, especially at this time of night.

_Well, here goes nothing…_

* * *

**A/N #1:** Thank you for reading. Please let me know what you think! Reviews and constructive critiquing are love! – Just as a heads up, but I think this story will be coming to a close in the next chapter or so. But I promise that it will be an end worth waiting for!

"_Yesterday is gone. Tomorrow has not yet come. We have only today. Let us begin_." ― Mother Teresa


	8. Chapter 8

**Disclaimer:** I don't own AMC's The Walking Dead or any of its characters, wishful thinking aside.

**Authors Note #1:** This story is meant to fit in some point during the winter when they were going from house to house. Focusing on the scenario of: What if Daryl and Carol had met once before, decades before the virus and their escape from Atlanta. _* Just to clear something up, this could be construed as an AU – however the way I plan to work it into the plot makes it virtually cannon compliant._

**Warnings:** Contains some minor season two and three spoilers, references to Daryl's past, allusions to Carol's past, domestic abuse/violence, sexual imagery, adult language and mature content. *This particular chapter contains specific mention of spousal abuse and domestic violence.

**Lady in Red**

_**Chapter 8**_

She blinked back an unexpected film of tears as she came back to herself. Setting down her drink and turning away as she let the shadows filter across her face, masking her expression as she banished the tears and listened to the wind whistling through the eaves. Rattling the shingles and pressing against the glass as the windows creaked with the pressure. Giving herself a moment to adjust as everything suddenly fell into place.

She swallowed hard, hearing the echoes of that rough edged voice and the scent of charred tobacco wafting through the air in her mind's eye as she took in her surroundings. She took a deep breath of the dusty air and smiled. Feeling something settle inside her as the final puzzle piece clicked into place and completed the picture, the realization both startling and undeniable as the moment faded and reality set in.

She'd often wondered what her life would have been like if she'd taken him up on his offer. Lord only knows how many times she'd regretted turning him down and calling Ed instead. She'd told herself that she'd done the right thing; she'd comforted herself with it if she was being honest. After all she'd barely known him.

Hell, she hadn't even known his _name_.

But even a handful of hours had been enough for her to take a guess. Truth be told, he hadn't been that hard to read. Under the surprising vulnerability and child-like uncertainty there had been a toxic tangle of sharp edges and barely restrained aggression. Indeed, one had to wonder what his life had been like if he figured every well-meant gesture was some sort of elaborate con.

Still, caution aside, when Ed had first laid his hands on her, that reasoning had been of little comfort.

She'd come to realization that regret is an emotion that has shades rather than colors and layers that go far beyond the light of day. It isn't simple or even straightforward, it just _is. _And once you have it, it is an emotion that is nearly impossible to erase. Because whether she realized it or not, she'd spent the rest of her life thinking about that dance.

But as the years had passed and things had gotten worse rather than better, she'd tucked those memories away. That night and a thousand different ones like it. She'd taken all the good times, all the lingering moments and could-have-beens and buried them deep - so deep that she'd nearly forgotten them herself.

The memories of that night became a part of her that Ed couldn't touch, a part of her soul that he couldn't find and pick apart - something that he couldn't ruin with words, words that even she'd started to half believe, or soil with the virtue of hindsight. She'd kept them hidden, _safe_ - until the years had passed and idea of life _before _Ed became almost impossible to picture.

…_Until now._

Life had a funny way of coming full circle, she supposed.

The atmosphere around the bar seemed strangely calm considering the nature of her realization. It made the moment seem almost surreal. Like she'd just imagined it or had caught some sort of fever. Because other than some muffled conversation by the fire, things remained remarkably as they had before. Quiet and still. A welcome change from all the running they'd been forced to do since they'd lost the farm.

Reality seemed subjective and unset as she looked around her. Hinged between fact and fiction as the storm howled outside, blasting across the plains as old man winter gave them both barrels. Howling down the chimney and screeching through the gaps in the brick as she snuggled deeper into the folds of her jacket. Conveniently forcing her back to the matter at hand as she questioned how Daryl could actually be warm in only his vest, long sleeve shirt and poncho.

Hell, she felt cold just _looking_ at him.

She snuck a look at him through the fan of her lashes as he shifted beside her - using the moment to take him in, this time with the benefit of _all_ her faculties as she played with the rim of her glass. Tipping it back so that it caught the light, reflecting uneven prisms across the table as the fire glowed in the background.

As she inspected his profile, she tried to push her personal feelings aside and see the difference between the boy and the man. And truth be told it wasn't an easy task. Hell, she got stuck on everything from the hollows underneath his eyes to angle of his cowlicks as he ran his hand through his hair and yawned - knuckling his scalp with a brand of thoughtlessness that made her smile as he rolled his shoulders and tucked his sharpener back into his bag.

She tapped her nail against her glass and waited - the ghosts of both the past and the present fighting for her attention as she watched him rummage through his quiver. Because all else considered, looking at him now was like looking at a merger between the young man she'd danced with in that bar and the jaded, but _evolving_ man she knew today.

Like her, he'd changed in the intervening years. He'd lost that subtle softness in his bearing and the nativity that had been so present in his expression when she'd taken his hands in hers and placed them firmly on her hips. That innocence had been replaced by something harder, something less malleable and sharp. Something had been wrought through spilled blood and unforgiving fists rather than love and patience.

He'd been broken down and remade so many times that the resemblance to that of a wounded animal was _more_ than just a metaphor, but rather an _understatement_.

But that being said he'd regained some of that softness since the quarry. It hadn't been easy, but eventually the wild and almost feral edge that had been so present in his actions in the beginning had been gradually soothed. Not tamed, but perhaps rounded out a bit, as if someone had taken a piece of sandpaper to the edge of a 4x4 and slowly smoothed it down.

He'd certainly come a long way. _They all had._

In the meantime, Daryl still hadn't said a word, obviously keen on putting the label "Southern Comfort" to the test as he took another generous swig. Throat working almost sensually as he wiped his hand across his mouth, rasping carelessly through his stubble as he turned his attention towards the selection of bolts he'd spread across the table in the interim. Inspecting the flights of each arrow with a critical eye - checking for torn flights and bent shafts as his fingers examined each one with a level of care that even_ she'd_ rarely seen him express.

She shivered, remembering the sensation of those calloused pads firming around the flare of her hips as the band had started playing. His fingers, crooked with old breaks and laced with scars flirting with the material of her dress as every nerve she hadn't known she'd even _had_ smouldered to life as he caught his stride and started to get cocky. Pulling her in as the music reached a climax and the rest of the world dissolved into the background.

The memory alone was enough to make her shift in her seat. Legs clenching involuntarily as she ran her fingers down the dirty velvet cushions, skipping over the occasional beer stain as she tried not to squirm in place. Her eyes went hooded as they paused on the stage. Seeing every detail of that moment in living color as her mind wandered and her body grew unexpectedly wanton.

Her nerve endings felt almost _electric_ as the texture of worn velvet gave way to that of dust and ancient crumbs. All but _looking_ for a distraction as a flush of heat coloured her cheeks and her thoughts strayed to the memory of skin pressing against skin. Hell, even the awkward huff of air that had ghosted down the nape of her neck when he'd caught her was fair game. Finding herself nearly _panting _as she remembered the way the zipper of his jeans had pressed into her navel as the moment had slowed and she'd wound her arms around his neck.

_Jesus…_

She shook her head. It almost didn't seem real. After all, what were the odds of such a thing? What were the chances that two strangers who'd met once in a backwater bar half a lifetime ago would cross paths again? Unknowingly coming together here of all places. Here in another bar at the end of the world. Perhaps she was bias, but it seemed almost…_providential_.

She held back a bubble of laughter as she tipped back her head and let it rest on the cushions - mindless of the dust and grit as she raised her glass and took a heady sip. Feeling the potent liquor trickle down her throat and spread down the length of her. Almost overwhelmed at the sheer _beautiful_ impossibility of it all as a years' worth of dust motes whirled through the air above them.

"_Only in Georgia…_" She thought with a grin.

Finding herself completely unable to do anything else but smile all the wider when Daryl caught her expression through the gloom - cocking his head to the side in silent question when she nearly choked on her drink in response. Looking so much like that same young man that had taken her hand and pulled her close, swaying across that old, hardwood stage as the music turned slow and the rich twang of that old fashioned southern guitar had sounded out in the background. Content to simply breathe it in as the scent of crushed wheat and parched soil rose around them. Highlighting the moment as fate fell asleep on the job and set into motion a sequence of events that would eventually lead them right back where they'd started.

"…Sam's Grill." She breathed.

And from across the table, barely visible in the dusty half-light, his eyes widened.

* * *

**A/N #1:** Thank you for reading. Please let me know what you think! Reviews and constructive critiquing are love! – There will be one more chapter to this story, I was going to wrap it up in one but my muse had other plans. Besides, I figure this little cliff-hanger will leave more than a few of you with a bit of anticipation!

"_Lost opportunities, lost possibilities, feelings we can never get back. That's part of what it means to be alive. But inside our heads - at least that's where I imagine it - there's a little room where we store those memories. A room like the stacks in this library. And to understand the workings of our own heart we have to keep on making new reference cards. We have to dust things off every once in awhile, let in fresh air, change the water in the flower vases. In other words, you'll live forever in your own private library."_ ― Haruki Murakami, (from "Kafka on the Shore.")


	9. Chapter 9

**Disclaimer:** I don't own AMC's The Walking Dead or any of its characters, wishful thinking aside.

**Authors Note #1**: This story is meant to fit in some point during the winter when they were going from house to house. Focusing on the scenario of: What if Daryl and Carol had met once before, decades before the virus and their escape from Atlanta. * Just to be clear, this could be construed as an AU – however the way I worked it into the plot makes it virtually cannon compliant.

**Warnings:** Contains some minor season two & three spoilers, references to Daryl's past, allusions to Carol's past, domestic abuse/violence, sexual imagery, adult language and mature content. *This particular chapter contains specific references to spousal abuse and domestic violence, please continue with caution.

**Lady in Red**

**Chapter 9**

Her cheeks flamed when she realized she'd said the name out loud. Cringing internally as his posture went from relaxed to on point in less than five seconds flat. Heart beat stuttering as his fingers curled around the base of one of the bolts and crushed the flights clean in two. Not even seeming to notice when bits of shattered neon started flaking across the table - trickling down in an awkward shower of orange and yellow plastic as the skin around his knuckles pulled taunt.

It took a few moments, but she swallowed hard and met his stare when he turned around and faced her - trying her best to hold it as steel blue eyes fixed on hers. Searching her face for a few ageless moments before his expression gradually softened and the hand that had been clenched around the bolt slowly started to relax. Almost as if he'd been gauging _her _reaction before figuring out how to respond.

_But that would mean… _

She'd been expecting to be able to watch the moment when recognition dawned. But instead, she was shocked to see a muted little smirk spread across his face. Treating her to a rare smile that went the whole nine yards, back-lighting his eyes with warmth and humor as he puffed out his chest and leaned back against the booth.

"I didn't think you'd remember," he finally rasped, voice sounding a little bit rougher than usual as he flattened his palms on the table and shifted his weight towards the door. Almost as if despite his smile he was still caught between that same fight or flight response he'd held as gospel up at the quarry – looking over his shoulder to check on the others just to avoid her stare.

"You knew!?" She exclaimed. "You knew it was me? All this time?" She demanded. Excitement and frustration coloring her tone as she whirled around to face him, determined to get the bottom of whatever had him looking so pleased with himself as she crossed her legs underneath her and waited. Pretending not to notice when their knees brushed together and his breathing stuttered.

"Woman, you were the least lady-like creature on that dance floor. And as I recall, everyone loved you for it. So tell me, how's a man supposed to forget something like _that_?" He retorted. The hint of a grin flirting with the corners of his lips as his gaze went heated.

It was the kind of look that sent her right back to that moment on the dance floor, the moment when those big, wide-palmed hands had settled on her hips. The room dark and hazed with smoke - stuffy, stale and strangely perfect as the band played and the regulars made tracks across the stage. Confident and bold whereas Daryl had just pulled them deeper into the shadows, shielding them from view as she'd frantically tried to remember how to move without falling over.

"Well, I don't know about that," she huffed, feeling strangely daring and more than a little pleased with herself as his words hit home.

…The red dress _had _been a nice touch after all.

"…But I know that _you_ did," she chanced, the whiskey and the moment making her bold as she threw caution to the wind and edged a few millimeters closer. Feeling something settle inside her as skin met skin and he relaxed into her touch. Responding to her closeness by running his tongue across his lower lip and fixing her with an unfettered look as his filthy shirt got lost in the folds of her jacket.

_Christ, she swore he was doing that on purpose!_

"Figured that went without saying," he shot back, lips twitching like he was repressing another smile as he emptied his glass in one clean swallow.

"Reckon I didn't do much to hide it either," he added after moment, fixing her with a look that only made her smile in return - all boyishly mischievous and sly as he topped up her glass and pulled a folded napkin of jerky out of his vest pocket. Setting it between them with an affirming grunt as they quickly made short work of the gamey snack.

She let her legs kick out, hitting the back of the booth in an uneven, staccato rhythm. Taking a sip from her glass and letting the moment breathe as she marveled on the series of events that had led them here. But instead of moving on, she got stuck there. Because there had to be a _reason_, there had to be a reason why they were both here, _now_ - together in another bar close to twenty years later.

Call her hopeless, but it seemed almost foolish to believe it was merely a coincidence.

She chased the taste of iron with her tongue as she bit down on the inside of her cheek. Taste buds alive with the zing of salt and the bitter spike of her own blood as she choked on all the words she didn't know how to say. After all, how could she tell him? How could she tell him how she felt without having him start running for the hills? Daryl was difficult enough at the best of times, skittish and easy to baulk. There was no telling how he'd react, if he even let her get that far.

_She was walking on thin ice and she knew it._

"I am surprised you even remember," she remarked after a while. "That had to be what? Two decades ago? Maybe more?" She mused, trying her best to sound nonchalant as she searched his face for some clue as to what he was thinking.

Luckily for her, she didn't have long to wait.

"Are you kiddin'? It aint every day a red-headed siren straight up _asks_ a stranger to dance," he scoffed, eyes sharp, but noticeably distant as he stared off in the direction of the stage. Almost as he was picturing the moment in his mind's eye - watching the scene play out as the past melded together with the present and became something new.

…_A new animal, a new possibility, a new…something._

"Besides, I didn't know it was you until a few months ago anyway. It was back at that strip mall in Locust Grove when you and Maggie were getting clothes for Lori. You were thumbing the seam of that red skirt hangin' in the window and _bam_ – I was back there," he hummed, fingers flaring out in silent exclamation as he shook his head and snorted.

"Small world," he grunted. Staring off in the direction of the stage in a way that made her seriously consider selling her soul for just a hint as to what he was thinking.

"Hard to believe…" she murmured, "it's been a long time," she sighed, wriggling deeper into the folds of her jacket as a particularly vicious gust of wind battered against the windows.

"Not that long," he countered, twirling one of the bolts around in his fingers before grounding the point on the table. Kicking up bits of varnish and flecks of sawdust as he scratched a line through the uneven designs that had been carved across the table like wood-worked graffiti. Contrasting oddly with the dusty rings left over from someone's glass as the sticky film of spilled beer and evaporated alcohol stood out in the half light.

"Long enough," she returned, thinking back to Ed and all those wasted years in between. Years where she could have been happy if she'd only listened to that stupid little voice yammering away in the back of her head as she'd watched him walk away.

"You never came back did you?" He asked after a pause, the words coming out more like a statement than a question as he palmed the bottle and started picking at the label again. The flippancy of his words doing little to belay the discomfort in his tone as bits and pieces of the label littered across the table like paper rain.

"No," she answered honestly. Fingers tightening around her glass as she _felt_ more than _saw_ something in his posture stiffen in response.

"Neither did I," he returned, just a bit too quickly to be sincere as he picked at a corner of the table. Sighing in a mixture of frustration and discomfort when she fixed him with a patient look, sensing there was more to the story than he was telling as she decided to wait him out.

"I wanted to. But every time I did I talked myself out of it. I drove by once, the night after Merle got home from prison. But before I pulled in, I saw you walking past the gas station with _him_ and thought you'd finally figured out the whole fine print thing," he continued, his expression souring a bit as he referenced Ed. Not even seeming to notice when she swallowed hard and looked off towards the window.

"After that there didn't seem to be much of a point anymore," he grunted. Blunt nails scratching across his stubble as she tried to place him in that moment and failed.

Had she heard the rusty growl of that old motor echoing down the road? Had she heard it and simply dismissed it? Too wrapped up in Ed's soft touch and perfect words to notice when he'd hit the gas and made for the interstate? _Christ... _And how long had it been after that Ed had starting making love to the bottle rather than her? How long had it been before she'd forced herself to accept the fact that her perfect possible future was nothing more than window dressing on a house made out of cardboard. Only one spring's rain away from falling apart at the seams as Ed's easy smiles had eventually given way to anger and his gentleness to impatience.

"If I'd known I woulda'…" he began, voice misfiring like an unoiled Remington as he crushed one of the coasters in his fist. Sending the pieces flying off the table and into dead space with a vicious swipe as his expression went hard.

"I know," she replied, cutting him off before he had a chance to finish as an emotion she didn't know how to describe rose in her throat, "come to think of it, so would I," she added. Tapping into that wavering, but undeniably powerful source of inner strength she'd found in herself after she'd lost Sophia.

It was a strength that someday had the possibility of rivaling the spirit of that of the same self-assured young woman that had walked into that dive bar on the edge of town. Feisty and fearless as she'd turned heads and set her sights on the young man at the table opposite hers – the one wreathed in leather and shadow. …Not the exact same woman mind you, but damn close.

"I would've liked to see that," he snorted, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand as his shoulders hunched inwards. Stretching his arms above his head before letting them rest across the back of the booth, inches away and tantalizing as the hint of a nail scratched across the curve of her shoulder.

"What? Think I can't do it?" She asked, only half joking as her arm twinged in reminder. Broken when she'd popped Ed back something fierce the time he'd slapped her across the face for dumping his bottle of Johnny Walker down the kitchen sink after he'd come to bed drunk the night before. The first and regrettably _only_ time she'd given him as good as she'd got when he'd used his fists to make a point. He'd twisted her arm so hard he'd broken it in three places. She'd told the doctor that she'd fallen down the stairs, but honestly she'd been surprised and perhaps even a bit disappointed when he'd actually believed her.

The truth was that sometimes people, even good people don't _want_ to know.

"The opposite actually," He replied, the hint of a smile flirting with the corners of his lips as his shoulder nudged against hers. Sweet and awkward, just the way she liked it as the goodness of the moment trickled through her like molasses skating around the rim of a jar. Slow and worth waiting for as she held onto the last dregs of sweetness. Drinking it in as the fire shifted and wind whistled through the chinks in the brick.

She was amused with how much they'd changed as she tried and ultimately failed to picture such a thing coming from the same man who'd stomped around the quarry camp like the devil coming off a bender. Sulky, withdrawn and brimming over with barely restrained aggression as he'd ignored everyone save for Shane, Glenn and Dale. Keeping them fed and protected, but wanting little else to do with them when push came to shove.

_How far they'd come indeed…_

"It doesn't matter anyway," she said after a moment, leaning back into the press of his shoulder for a few long beats before reluctantly giving him his space. Feeling just shy of cloud nine when he remained where he was, allowing their shoulders to touch as his muscles flexed underneath the skin - uncertain but stubborn as he fiddled with the corner of the table and listened.

"We're here _now_, you, me and another bar at the end of the world," she quipped. Unable to stay straight faced as the sheer impossibility of it all aired out into the open. Getting lost in an uneven whirlwind of wood smoke and dust motes as her mind whirled and the quiet murmur of conversation rose and fell in the background.

"Wouldn't wanna be anywhere else," he murmured, bringing her soundly back to the present as he nudged her and eyed her through the fan of his lashes. Reminding her of their proximity as his voice pitched low and took on a quality she'd never heard before.

The nudge was awkward and a bit uncertain, but it made her heart thud in her ears nonetheless - hopeful and just daring enough to show it as she caught his gaze and held it. And funnily enough, as his words slowly sunk in, she realized she felt warm for the first time in _days_.

Truth be told, when she rested her head on his shoulder she hadn't really thought it through. Reacting instinctively as his words aired out and everything she'd felt since the farm, hell since the god damned_ quarry_ snuck up on her all at once. Unable to stop herself from leaning in and gentling into the curve of his side before she had a chance to mull it over, or worse, change her mind. - And surprisingly enough, save for a few awkward moments where in which Daryl didn't seem to know where to put his hands and she forced herself to stay put, holding her ground as his muscles tried their best to jump clear through his skin, _he let her_.

And honestly, she was just selfish enough to press her luck. Because as the seconds ticked past, she kept it there. Letting the silence air out, flawed and comfortable, listening with a small smile as the fast paced thrum of his heart eventually slowed.

She hadn't been expecting anything more. Hell, how could she? He'd already given her something rare and undoubtedly precious, _his trust_. Showing her that he trusted her enough to let her get close, something she herself hardly dared to believe as she settled in to stay. Enjoying the moment for what it was - a small victory in a long line of minor setbacks and defeats. Content with what he'd given her as she tried her best not to ruin it.

She took it all in, committing everything to memory as his chest rose and fell, breathing it in as the smell of flaking leather and stale sweat wrapped around her like a blanket. She shivered a bit when his stubble rasped across the arc of her throat, sensual and enticing as somewhere behind her Beth started singing the chorus of some old song that no one save for Hershel could remember the name of. Off key and sweet as Maggie threw an armful of wood onto the fire and the lyrics got lost amidst the searing hiss of icy pine.

The moment stretched. Only idly paying attention as something scraped across the length of the building – likely a piece of sheet metal or a scrap of vinyl kicked up by the storm. But that knowledge didn't make it any less creepy as it thudded across the exterior, making an eerie sound as it skittered across the brick before being flung back into the storm. Reminding her that regardless of their revelation and what it might mean in regards to their future, reality was still waiting outside - hungry and relentless.

But all that went out the window when he finally moved. Sending pins and needles coursing through her veins as he suddenly went a step further. The action understated and sweet as he brought her in and arranged her across the span of his chest, her head coming to rest in the hollow between his neck and shoulder as his arm slowly wrapped around her from behind. Tentative but firm, like he was half afraid she'd either push him away or call his bluff as his fingers twitched against her skin. Almost as if he _wanted_ to touch but couldn't quite find it in him to try.

…_At least not yet._

For a long moment she just blinked. Cheeks flaming as the seconds ticked past and she tried to remember how that whole breathing thing worked. Caught so far off guard that she couldn't even fathom what she was supposed to do next. Lost in the feeling of having him so close as she listened to the ragged quality of his breathing and wondered.

_Jesus…_

But just when she figured the conversation was over, his chin suddenly ghosted across the top of her head – all stubbly skin, aging leather and stale sweat as he shifted in place. Not pushing her away, but moving nonetheless as he took a careful swig of Wild Turkey and made to speak.

"...Still can't dance worth shit though," he deadpanned, squinting up at her for a few heart stopping seconds before the beginnings of full blown grin trickled across his face - feisty and warm as she couldn't help but follow suit.

And she'd be damned if her laughter didn't echo all the way up to the eves, filling the bar with a sound it likely hadn't heard since before the infection had hit. Losing it completely as it rolled out, off key and heady as Daryl nearly choked on his mouthful of whiskey.

And if the others turned around to stare when a few, raspy barks of laughter left Daryl's throat in return, well, they were too busy nudging each other with their shoulders and hiding behind their glasses to notice…

* * *

**A/N #1:** Thank you for reading. Please let me know what you think! Reviews and constructive critiquing are love! – A big thank you to everyone who has supported me and this story throughout the writing process. Your reviews and excited anticipation for each new chapter made it an utter joy to write! *Expect the start of new Caryl story in the next few days. I have a bunch of unfinished stories and barely started one-shots gathering dust in my documents. It is just a matter of choosing which one to start on first!

"_Life can only be understood backwards; but it must be lived forwards."_ ― Søren Kierkegaard


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